


no grave can hold my body down

by siriuslymylife



Series: Hades/Persephone AU's [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hades and Persephone AU, Hades!Jon, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Persephone!Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22176082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslymylife/pseuds/siriuslymylife
Summary: Sansa was curious when the Lord Commander of the Underworld began to visit her garden, she was curious about why he came and why he never touched the flowers. As he visits more, she is more curious about him, really.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Hades/Persephone AU's [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596268
Comments: 26
Kudos: 135





	no grave can hold my body down

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware that there are already many Hades/Persephone AU's and they are all literally amazing, but I could not get this little nugget out of my head. This plays loose with actual Greek Mythology and the gods but like, fck it.
> 
> I've actually got two more other Hades/Persophone AU's planned out (obviously different from this) so let me know iff you're interested. 
> 
> Title from 'Work Song' by Hozier

The Lord Commander of the Underworld visited her garden often, but not never regularly. He would appear in her garden, stepping from one shadow to the next and stay for a while and then disappear again, making her whole garden seem colder. She wasn’t sure when it began, but eventually her flowers began to whisper to her of the god who walked among them, who admired them but never quite touched the flowers.

Some days she would let him have his time in her garden, and other days she would cloak herself in the scent of her flowers and just observe him wandering. She admired his form and the way he breathed in the air, but she never understood why he never touched the flowers. Visitors often asked her for one of her flowers, she used to give them out freely, but as she has got older, she became more reclusive with her gifts. She didn’t want to contemplate that she was angry that _he_ had never tried to take one. It confounds her that he wanders around a lot, looking at the beauty in her garden, but he doesn’t touch anything. Sometimes, he stops at a particularly beautiful flower, and he’ll reach for it but he seems to change his mind at the last moment and lets his hand hover over the flower for a few seconds instead before turning around and whisking away to the Underworld.

If she was her sister, she would have marched up to him on one of his first visits and demand to know why the Lord of the Dead would waste time in her trifle garden. But she was not Arya, the goddess of wolves and the hunt, she was Sansa, the goddess of spring and justice.

Still, maybe she could be braver like her. _From porcelain, to ivory, to steel_.

“Why do you visit my garden?” He startles, and then whips around, his cheeks flushing.

Sansa found that she liked him flushing, his face was as pink as the roses in her inner garden, which amused her very much that she could make the stoic god go that colour.

“My lady, I apologise, I did not mean to offend you.” He clasps his hands behind his back, and goes very still as he speaks.

“It does not offend me,” she tilts her head to the side and gives him a smile that does breach his gravely manner, “but it doesn’t answer why the Lord Commander of the Underworld comes to my garden, seemingly doing nothing but looking and then disappears again.”

He doesn’t answer her right away, he just seems to study her before he answers.

“Your flowers are beautiful. That is all.” The shadows around him seem to grow even though the sun position hasn’t moved in this brief conversation. His posture seems tense, and Sansa knew that he’s going to leave at any moment.

“You’re welcome to visit my garden, my Lord Jon. Maybe next time you will time me why you do not touch my flowers.”

She turned on her heel, knowing that her hair would fan out around her as she does so and walks away from one of the most powerful beings among her kind.

That night she dreamed of stars that burned orange, in a sky that wasn’t quite black, and of grey eyes.

He visits again, and again, and again, until the visits are both often and regular.

He comes back. She doesn’t mention his visits to her mother, the goddess of rivers and streams, or any of her siblings, but one of her brothers, Bran would sometimes look at her with a glint in his eye that would make her think that he knew already.

Her siblings knew how to put her in a bad mood though, and one of his visits coincided with the aftermath of an argument with Arya. She loved her sister very much, and they don’t argue as much as they used to when they were younger but occasionally their tempers best their intention to play nice.

He stepped into her gardens from the shadows and she could feel her eyes on her back, but she was too angry to turn around, and answer his questions on why her normally orderly gardens had weeds growing out between her tulips and why her dandelions seems to be withering or the bushel of thorns that had replaced her roses. She was too angry with her sister to care as to why she cared on his thought on her lack of control.

He sits next to her in silence, and doesn’t say anything except lay his hand close to hers. Not quite touching it, but Sansa’s hand felt warm in comparison to the rest of her cold anger.

They watched the sunset, watched the blue fade into shades of pink and orange, and then watched those burn out into the inky dark. Eventually with the moon above and the stars around her, she felt the bravery well in her to say-

“Sometimes I feel that my siblings think me weak because of my flowers. Robb is the god of heroes and battle strategy, and Arya is,” she swallowed, the bitterness was rising within her threatening to choke her but the words wanted to pour out of her so she pushed down the bitterness and continued, “Arya is the goddess of the hunt. I control flowers. How are they supposed to see me as anything but a silly girl?”

She wanted to wrap her arms around her chest to help fill the emptiness that seemed to live there but she didn’t want to move her hand that was so close to his either. She forced herself to be still.

He moved his head to look at her, and seemed to weigh his next words carefully.

“I visit your garden because your flowers give me something I’d thought I had lost.” His eyes are dark, and his face is as broody as ever, but despite of his domain and what it could mean, she feels reckless when she looks into his eyes.

“Which is?” The anger with her sister seems to fade as the desperation for an answer takes over her mind.

“Hope.” He stands up, and makes a movement that was as if he was going to turn around but decided against it at the last moment.

“I always see the aftermath of war, it makes no heroes nor legends, just the dead. Your powers are stronger than anything they could conjure on Olympus.” 

He gave a half smile to her, and took a step back, and the darkness swallowed him.

She lets her garden grow out a little more wild, let’s moss grow on her trees, mixes her types of flowers, still beautiful but also, powerful.

He seems to like the change, never commenting on it but holding his hand out so it hovers over the leaves as they walk through the outer garden before they eventually stop.

The leaves seem to grow faster as their argument increases.

It’s a mindless argument about the current war of mankind, but it seems that neither party wishes to back down.

“They were invaded, do they not have the right to defend their home?”

“Defend? Aye, but what they are doing is not defence, they’re just fighting for the sake of it-” He cuts himself off, as she moves closer in her anger, both their fists are balled and they are breathing heavily and-

“I am not a _child_ , I can tell the difference between mindless fighting and fighting for a cause.” She can feel her cheeks grow hot in her anger at his tone, that goddamn tone speaking to her as if she was a _child_.

“ _You_ don’t judge the dead, _you_ haven’t seen the innocents that have died from this war.” His words are a snarl as he moves closer to her now, they are almost nose to nose, their breaths could mingle into one if she tilted her head slightly.

“Then show me,” her words are forced out of her, but once they are out in the open, Sansa realises that she wants to see it, she wants to see _his_ home, “show me the aftermath of war then.”

His eyes were dark, and he had been still at her first words, and emotions had flittered across his face, emotions that she dare not read. But at his own words said back to him, he stepped back as slapped across the face, his eyes large with surprise.

“You wish to prove your point, then show me the Underworld.” Her voice was soft, almost a plea.

Sansa goes to take his hand, but he snatches his hand away quickly, and she falters for the first time. Her entire body went ice cold at the rejection. _He does not feel the same_. The stark realisation that whatever kept the Lord of the Dead coming back here, it wasn’t because of her. She took a step back at that point, and waited for his answer.

He did not answer. He stared at her, mouth tight, one hand, _the hand she was going to touch_ , resting on his the pommel of his sword and the other balled into a fist. Then he walked away.

He did not visit again. Her siblings came and went, she visited her parents, she changed her gardens but still he did not come.

She watches as Rickon runs loose in her gardens, a few of Arya’s wolves are chasing him, and some of Bran’s crows are flying around them and is struck by the violence of her desire to have Jon by her side here.

“You know, you don’t have to stay here.” Bran’s voice broke through her musings, and forced her to move her gaze from Rickon to Bran.

“What do you mean?’

Bran looked very comfortable under the shade of one of her trees, almost half asleep but still looked very awake despite it. Sansa wasn’t sure when they were younger if Bran really fitted into being the God of dreams and foresight, but as he grew, his want of being a hero lessoned and he began to fit into the role more. Sometimes, though, she wishes he was less cryptic about their futures.

“I mean, this is your garden, but it doesn’t have to be home,” he gave her a charming smile that was full of boyhood wonder, “you don’t have to wait for permission to go anywhere.”

And by _anywhere_ , he meant the _Underworld_.

“He’s right, you know.” Arya flops down next to Sansa, seemingly tiring of egging on her wolves and Rickon, “I can tell you how to get to the Underworld if you want.”

Her sister takes a nonchalant bite of her apple, as if she and Bran can’t her flaming cheeks. Sansa considered the possibilities, but Jon clearly didn’t want her in the Underworld so it wouldn’t make anything better to just show up. She voices this to her siblings but they are unconcerned.

“Maybe he was scared of how much he wants to take you down there. Maybe that’s why he left.” Arya shrugs when she’s finished talking, her tone is straightforward and factual, and no emotions that were leaking out of Sansa enter into Arya’s speech.

But this _was_ Sansa’s home, wasn’t it? She had created it, cultivated it, and had poured her soul into it. Well, she had once. But now she can see the cracks, the lack of beauty that apathy brings to a home. She missed the Lord Commander. She missed _Jon_. He had asked her to call him that on one of his earlier visits, when he said very little and they mainly just walked around her garden. She had smiled for a week after that, the sunshine in her reflected in the quick growth of daisies along the outer rims of the garden where he asked her.

Her garden would grow wild and untamed without her, but that no longer made her sad. Wildness is a beautiful on its own right but-

Her family. Her family was here, and if she lived in the Underworld, she would not see them as often.

“Sansa, you’ve lived your whole immortal life trying to make everyone happy. You deserve that happiness. We will always love you.” Bran’s voice was understanding, his hand playing with the grass beside him.

Bran was always her favourite. She looked up to Robb, and idolised him, he was her hero and her older brother. Arya was vicious and beautiful, wild and lovely, and Sansa didn’t understand her growing up. Rickon was a joy onto himself, but he was always too young but Bran and Sansa understood each other. They were the dreamers, Sansa dreamed of Olympus for its golden parties and beautiful queens and nymphs whereas Bran dreamed of the golden knights and beautiful heroes. They had grown out of those dreams but the understanding still remained. And Bran sitting there, with his face almost shadowed under the trees, his crows circling above him, Sansa made her choice.

She turned to Arya, who had begun playing with her knife in the brief moment they weren’t talking to her.

“Show me to the Underworld.”

Arya’s grin was almost feral, but it was joyful and it was lovely and Sansa felt determined and excited.

One of Arya’s wolves showed her the entire way. She recognised this wolf, it was the smallest of the pack, the most gentle, and Sansa herself had trained it. She had let Lady stay with her pack, not wanting to part them, but she had missed this wolf fiercely whenever they were parted. They walked for what seemed days, the sun setting and rising many times but neither she nor Lady stopped. The wind grew fiercer and colder, light snow fell occasionally as they walked. The trees grew older and more peaceful. Eventually they stopped before a large castle that she instantly knew within her bones.

_Winterfell._

Her and her siblings had grew up here, they had loved and laughed and lost here. And Sansa had dreamed. Sansa had dreamed of golden days, of bright white halls of Olympus, and of parties within the sky. But sometimes, her dreams consisted of the cold on her fingertips, of a dark hall with a fire, and of a man standing far away, his back turned against her but he always had on black furs and he had dark hair.

Maybe that was why Sansa knew Jon, not from the stories, but because she had seen him before, or because he had been in her dreams longer than she knew.

Lady darted inside the crumbling walls, walls that were abandoned when her father had died, and Sansa was quick to follow the wolf. Lady led Sansa down underneath into the crypts. Sansa had not been here since she left Winterfell, to pay respects to her aunt.

Lady kept leading, further into the tunnels, not stopping to let Sansa lit a torch when the darkness grew almost oppressive. For a moment, Sansa considered turning back, but her spine was steel, and she would not give up until she saw him.

Lady led her to a statue that Sansa knew instantly. _Bran the Builder_. When the Starks were Kings among the gods, and Olympus hadn’t even been thought of, Bran the Builder had fought with the Titans, and his nephew had taken the dead to the afterlife and then stayed there.

Lady gently nudged Sansa’s hand with her head, giving Sansa comfort.

_Porcelain, ivory, steel._

Sansa gently pressed her hand against Bran the Builder’s chest and the statue moved across, leaving a hole for Sansa to walk through without Lady.

The Underworld was a brighter than she thought it be, but it was even colder than she could have imagined. The ice covered everything as far as she could see, except for the flowing river. The river flowed through a massive wall that looked to be made of ice. Sansa didn’t need to go near the river to feel the hatred pour out of it.

All around her, milled the dead. Their bodies looked almost corporeal, but it looked wrong somehow as if she was looking as a painting that she knew was forged but she couldn’t quite pinpoint what the difference to the original was. They looked lost, not frightened or angry, as if they didn’t know they were dead. And perhaps they didn’t, and flickers of sadness and anger rose within her at that thought.

A child, looking lost and forlorn came up to her with a shy smile. There was blood on the top of her gown but there was no wounds.

“I like your hair, it’s very pretty.” The little girl seemed shy and bold at the same time, so Sansa smiled at her, hoping to give her some comfort in this desolate place.

“Thank you,” even though Sansa hadn’t actually checked her hair in a while, she knew it was in a simple braid, but she also knew that it was been a few days since she had done it. “I like your hair too.”

Indeed the girl’s hair was beautiful, golden ringlets that framed her face giving her the most innocent look.

The girl smiled even wider at Sansa, and looked around to see if anyone was listening before stepping closer to Sansa.

“I need to speak to the ferryman, but I’m scared, will you come with me?” The girl spoke more quietly than before, her eyes were wide with fear, and Sansa knew instantly that she would help this little girl.

“Of course I will come with,” Sansa took the girl’s hand and looked around, and saw a figure on the river coming through the wall, “is that the ferryman on the river?”

The girl peered around the dead standing in front of her and nodded vigorously. Sansa steered the girl to the dock that was nearby, where the dead were gathering without even realising it.

She and the little girl moved to be a part of the not-quite queue, and waited for the ferryman. Sansa observed the ferryman as they waited. He was a large man, with red hair and a beard, and he wore fur.

Eventually the ferry docked, and the ferryman moved out of the boat.

“Payment before docking! Payment before docking! No docking, no payment!” His voice was loud and booming, and he held up a hand to the closest dead person standing next to him.

They lady reached into a pocket of her dress and pulled out a single gold coin and handed it to him, and got onto the boat. Her expression when she found the coin was both surprised and unsurprised, as if she knew what he wanted but was surprised that she knew.

The giant ferryman moved through the crowd gathering the coins, and when the boat was quarter-full, he caught sight of Sansa and stopped abruptly before her. His eyebrows pulled together and his mouth turned down in confusion.

“Only the dead belong here, girl.” His voice was rough and uncompromising.

“I’m going to see the Lord Commander, and I am not a _girl_ , I am the goddess of spring.”

If he was confused before, now he looked positively comical in his bewilderment.

“You’re coming to see Jon? _Jon_?” He gestured with his hands wildly as he spoke, and the little girl beside her flinched as his movements became exaggerated. Sansa realised then that the girl was both scared of this man and that she didn’t have payment.

“Yes. He is a,” Sansa paused, not knowing what to call the Lord of the Dead in relation to her but straightened her shoulders and continued anyway, “He is a friend, and I need to speak with him. I will pay the price for both this girl and myself.” She spoke firmly, hoping that her mask was in place and that her voice left no room for compromise. R

The giant man had moved to stroke his beard while she spoke but stopped and glanced suddenly down at the girl, seeing her for the first time.

“The price is given to the dead at a proper burial. She needs to be buried properly before she can pay the way.” His eyes were sorrowful, and Sansa understood why, a gaping hole opening in her chest at his words.

Her parents, whatever was left of them, never bothered to bury her, or her parents were waiting her, and they did not recognise their daughter.

Sansa had not seen anyone looking similar to the girl, and could only assume that it was the former.

The giant man observed her, gone back to stroking his beard in contemplation.

“What is the price for me to cross? I will pay double for both of us.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound desperate.

“Only the dead, those connected to the Underworld or with permission of the King of Gods may pass. If you are or have neither, then you cannot pass.”

The dead had were slowly moving away from them, looking like they had forgotten why they were staying there in the first place.

“How can I connect myself to the Underworld?” That was her only hope for herself and the girl.

His eyebrows shot up and he let out a large laugh. “That’s the best joke I’ve heard in ages.”

“I’m not joking.”

He grew very still at her words, and slowly opened his pouch to pull out seeds.

He handed Sansa six of those seeds. She instantly knew that those were pomegranate seeds, and she felt a sense of rightness holding them, as if destiny itself approved of this moment.

“Three for you, and three for the girl. You eat these and you belong to the ice and snow of the Underworld, and you must always return here if you are ever allowed to enter above.” He turned around and began collecting payment when he was finished speaking.

Sansa glanced down at the little girl beside her, who had begun to grip Sansa’s hand very tightly. A sudden thought struck Sansa.

“My name is Sansa, daughter of Ned and Catelyn, what’s yours?’

“Myrcella, daughter of Cersei.”

A demigod child with no burial is a sorry fate indeed, but the only thought that crossed her mind when she at the seeds was _Jon_.

They dropped the other passengers, including the little girl the place that judged the dead, Castle Black it was called, Sansa thought that was a little shabby. Sansa hugged Myrcella tight and vowed to visit her soon, and then just her and the ferryman left Castle Black and headed towards Jon.

The only sound was the wind and the sound of the river. Rivers used to give her a feeling of comfort, her mother’s powers loving her wherever Sansa was. This river only gave the impression of hate in the back of Sansa’s head. 

“My name’s Tormund. Not that you asked. Good luck with him.” He docked at a final place, with a castle on the horizon. A castle that a mirror to the one above, an exact copy of Winterfell.

He cheerfully threw her out the boat and continued down the river. Sansa glanced at his retreating back before facing the castle.

_From porcelain, to ivory, to steel._

Sansa entered Winterfell, and she knew exactly where to go, as if some had tied a rope around her middle and pulled her along to Jon. She ignored the various creatures around her that stared until she reached the Great Hall where she knew Jon was.

 _His hair is bound_. That was the first thought when she saw him. He was sitting on a dark throne, in the hall that was dark itself. A fire was going on one side of the room, casting half of Jon’s face into shadows and the other’s into light. His hands were clasped in front of him, and he was slouching over so that his elbows were on his knees and his clasped hands were against his forehead. There was a large white wolf by his feet who perked his head up and her entrance and tilted an ear towards her. His entire posture screamed exhaustion, but Sansa’s felt hers melt away when she saw him.

“Slouching is a very ungodly-like pastime.”

Jon shoots to his feet at the sound of her voice, the wolf moving away from him, irritated at the sudden movement.

“ _Sansa_?” Her name is almost a gasp, almost a question but is definitely a shock to him.

She smiled at him, and gave a little laugh. The joy at seeing him bubbling just below the surface.

“Hello, Jon.”

He strides towards her, comfortable in his domain that he wasn’t in hers, and stops before her, his eyes drinking in her face. There was no telling what dirt and smudge were on her face, she had cleaned up a few days ago, but no telling what happened in between then.

“You’re not dead, how are you here?” He asked like he was dreading the answer, but Sansa was sure he was afraid that something happened to her, and hoped not because he didn’t want her here.

“You never gave me an answer to my question to show me the Underworld,” she swept past him to enter into the hall, and turned around to face him when she felt she was adequately within the room, “and you never visited again, so I decided to see for myself.”

“ _Sansa_.” The back of her neck grew hot at the way he said her name, The Northern burr coating his tongue, and the exasperation lining her name and as if she was the only thing he wanted.

She raised a single eyebrow at him in challenge, and he sighed and went to sit by the chairs that where nearby.

“What have you done to be here?” Jon spoke the words heavily, but with that same tone as if he was talking to a child again.

“I tied myself to the Underworld. To you.” She made her words as cold as the Underworld itself, knowing that an argument would just waste time.

He sighed again, and looked to the side and then back to her.

“Your family will come looking, Sansa.”

“Let them come. Bran told me to come, Arya led me here. Let them come and see that I am perfectly happy with the choice I made.” He stood up at her words and took steps back from her. She followed him.

“Please. This place will destroy you. I can’t protect you from the horrors here.” There was a recollection on his words, “I promise I’ll protect them,” where the words he had vowed to her father before her father had headed to Olympus and been destroyed.

“I don’t need your protection. Only you, and only ever you, Jon.” Her mask is firmly in place, but the honesty pours out of her, a broken dam that no water can hold now.

He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it and clenches his jaw and looks away instead. Sansa takes this moment to admire him, his handsome face, the way it looks with his hair pulled back, and his jawline. She had missed him fiercely when he didn’t visit, and she found that she liked him when he wasn’t wearing all black.

“I’ve eaten the pomegranate seeds,” she holds out her hands as if to show him the seeds, “I’ve eaten them and now I’m part of the Underworld. The Underworld is part of me.”

He closed his eyes, and leans back, processing the news, he feels raw and ripped open but still cannot speak.

“Why didn’t you touch my flowers?” Her question is something she had asked a thousand times but never have received an answer to, but this time she deserved honesty from him. She’d left herself vulnerable, and she needed to see that he could do the same.

“I may not be the God of Death, but the only things I touch are dead.” His tone was severe, his body language taught, but his eyes were open, and that gave her hope.

She took a step towards him, and watched him take a deep breath as she stood too close, too far in this cavernous empty hall. She reached for his hand slowly with hers, and gripped his with her own. His skin was soft, with callouses. She moved to place her hand on her chest, over her heart.

His eyes left hers to sweep down to her hand, the tilt of his mouth was questioning but he didn’t move his hand away.

“I am alive.” This seemed obvious, she was a goddess, and the gods were hard to kill, but he looked like he needed the assurance. “I have never once feared your touch, nor have I ever feared you.”

He looked unmade, as if she had undid the seams that kept his emotions together. She felt very similar to that look.

“Do not ask me to leave because I cannot, and will not go.”

Flowers begin creeping up within his domain. Vines grow on the walls in the throne room and on the castle walls, there are flowers growing in the Asphodel Meadows, and wherever else she feels like it to do so.

The flowers seemed brighter here than they ever were in her garden, Sansa was sure that her happiness shined through them.

Jon often had her sit through his councils, or his meetings with his advisors and they fought often, but she loved every moment of it. Sansa had brought up as a lady, a goddess but she realised that she had grown idle in her garden, and that she was _good_ at helping Jon run his kingdom.

Jon rarely touched her, but when he did touch her it was hesitant and brief but Sansa felt warm there for the rest of the day, and her dreams consisted of him taking her hand and holding her.

One day before they left for an outing to check upon the judgement of the dead, Sansa had decided to give him the present she had been working on.

It was a new cloak, a cloak that was similar to the one her father wore, that the Stark men wore.

Jon gazed as it, and her in awe. She should have felt self-conscious, but she treasured those looks.

“Thank you, Sansa.” He took the coat from her, and she smiled at him and walked to where Tormund was waiting.

She missed the look at Jon gave her as he placed the cloak around her, a look was more gentle than the insides of her more delicate flowers.

They often didn’t talk on the journeys on the ferry, but the silence wasn’t awkward. Sansa and Jon often talked about the running of the domain walking to and from meetings, in the mirrored Godswood, and at meals. But evenings, when they’re in the solar that connects to her room, where he does work, and she either does work or works on her stitching, those are the moments that she loves.

He’s often unguarded in those moments, his hair is down, and his smiles are still earned but they are more freely given. She is more comfortable in those moments than he ever was in her garden.

“Why did you never bring up my Father when you visited the garden?” _The_ garden, not _her_ garden, because the entirety of the Underworld is her garden now.

He looks up from his paperwork, frowning (at the paperwork not her), trying to catch her gaze but she never looks up from the garment she is sewing. He leans back in his chair, and links his hands across his middle, with his elbow on the chair rests, trying to achieve some level of nonchalance, but something about Sansa always unnerves him.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to talk about him.” They both heard the unheard words between them, _and what happened to him_ , but she pushed on.

“Sometimes I wish to speak about him, to remember what he was like, and what it was like to grow up in Winterfell.”

He didn’t say anything, merely observed her in the flickering light of the fire. He knew she wanted to say more so he would let her speak it all.

“I remember you. You used to visit my father. Once, you stopped on your way to visit him while I was singing and told me that my voice could calm the dead.” Her fingers had begun to tremble when she had mentioned her father, and it was a miracle that she hadn’t dropped a stitch. She forced her voice to be even, and to keep to gaze on the needlework.

“You know that Winterfell above and below echo each other. I remember when you used to walk in the Godswood and sing. The entire Underworld stopped to listen to you. I remember being in awe of yorur powers, you once grew an entire meadow in the Godswood overnight, I asked your father about it once, and he laughed and said that Robb had said something stupid and that was your retaliation. Your garden reminded me of that meadow, long after the Starks had left Winterfell.”

Somewhere in the middle of his speech, she had looked up at him at the desk, and they held that gaze, neither wanting to be the one to let the other one out of their sight.

Eventually Jon broke that gaze as he got up from his desk, and walked around to her chair, and held her head while catching her eyes before slowly placing a kiss on her forehead. He couldn’t help but look at her lips before nodding and stepping away.

“Goodnight, Sansa,” he left the room, his body on fire, his mind full of Sansa. He walks briskly to his room, and lets out a breath when he closes his door. He swallows, Sansa is as radiant as her garden and as warm as the sun and he could drown in her words if he lets himself.

They’re breaking their fast when Sansa’s brother storms in.

“Sansa!” Her name sounds harsh out of Robb’s mouth and Sansa wants to get up and jump into his arms, but she stays in her seat and continues eating.

“Yes, Robb?” She’s speaks blandly, as if he were just a mere inconvenience, and most likely not a herald of bad news.

Jon had stood up when Robb had entered, and he traded a look with Tormund who had stood by the door. Tormund shrugged his shoulders and made a “what can you do” motion with his hands and left. Robb must have permission from the King to be here, which means that Olympus knows what she has done and her mother is most likely very angry.

She couldn’t bring herself to care very much.

“And why did you kidnap my sister, you bastard?” Robb had turned his fury to Jon, his word’s an ice shaft into the happy bubble that Sansa and Jon had created.

Jon kept silent, and Robb’s hand flexed and gripped the pommel of his sword and took a step towards Jon, something wild as Arya’s wolves in his eyes.

“Honestly Robb, did Bran and Arya not tell you anything? I wasn’t kidnapped, I came here voluntarily. I’m staying voluntarily.” She spoke unhurriedly, not wanting Robb to see any panic in her and in a tone that her mother uses when Catelyn was tired of arguments.

“I said, why did you kidnap my sister?” Robb glanced from Sansa to Jon, ignoring her words which made her furious enough to abandon her chair and stand next to Jon.

“Jon, can you please give me a moment with my brother?” She kept her voice light, but her eyes never strayed from her brother.

Jon gave her a kiss on the hand and left, closing the door behind him.

 _Damn Robb_ , she thought. She couldn’t even enjoy that display of affection because of the anger towards her brother.

“Shall we sit?”

“What?” Robb blinked at her, startled at her words, clearly expecting an expectation.

“Robb, you look tired, let’s sit.” She moved to sit at a chair that was far from her original seat.

He did indeed look exhausted for a god, the normal glow of the skin was lacking, and his eyes had sunken in and his hair didn’t have the glossy shine to it. She mused to herself if this is what she looked like when she had come to the Underworld. No wonder Jon looked startled at her appearance.

“Mother and I have been searching for you continuously,” he collapses in the chair next to her, looking more dishevelled than before somehow, “Bran and Arya mentioned that you here by choice but Mother’s very worried, Sansa, _please_ , let’s go now, I can take you home.” He leaned forward and grabbed her hand to indicate his desperation, or perhaps to assure himself that she was real.

His outfit was brown and dirty, but she recognised the workmanship, it was one of her own. And this, more than anything, than his tone or his words broke through her anger. Her brother was her first hero, and she loved that he came for her.

She laid her other hand over his hand that was gripped within hers and kept her voice gentle as she said, “Robb, this is home. I love every inch of the Underworld, and I enjoy the work here _. Jon_ is home. I love him, and I will not give him up.”

Robb flinched at her words, and audibly swallowed.

 _“I love her, and I will not give her up,”_ are the words he had thrown at their mother when he had brought a demigod home instead of marrying the goddess that their mother had arranged. He had stood by Jeyne Westerling, as she would stand by Jon.

He bowed his head, and took a deep breath, he squeezes her hands, once, twice and then let’s go to stand up.

“You and Arya are truly the most stubborn Stark’s.”

He grinned down at her and kissed her forehead lightly before straightening up.

“Come, I need to apologise to the Lord Commander and I also need to have a moment alone with him.”

No amount of asking entices Jon to admitting what was said between Robb and Jon. Robb had much better manners after the talk with Jon, apologising to Jon with the manner of a god but the sincerity of her brother. That is, he apologised once, and then stayed a few days.

Robb spent most of time with Sansa, which Sansa was overjoyed with, she saw Robb the least out of all her siblings, but Robb was intruding on her evenings alone with Jon, even talking to Jon alone that first day he was here. Jon would smile tight-lipped whenever she asked after Robb left, which annoyed her because she far enjoyed his other smiles, his half-smile, his gentle smile or his full beaming one.

Robb had left more light-hearted than anything else but she had a request for him before he left. To find a demigod, and properly put her to rest.

When Robb was visiting, Sansa had an idea, and today she would finally show the fruit of her efforts to Jon. Robb had mentioned that Sansa was more than Jon’s advisor, she was sitting on meetings for him, signing documents and making decisions that extended beyond the power of an advisor. The heady feeling of being useful and being trusted sometimes got to her when she thought about it, but she channelled the energy into her little project instead.

One morning after breakfast, she had arranged their schedules to have the morning free, and promptly whisked Jon away to the Godswood before he asked many questions. The Godswood here didn’t have the same feeling in the Underworld because the trees weren’t alive before she came, the only whispers they had were those of death stories. The Godswood of her childhood home had the feeling of sombre respect, this Godswood was just sombre. The snow always fell more lightly in the Godswood, the trees whispering to her the stories of their deaths as she drew close, and she could feel the snow melting into her hair.

Jon stared at her hair in an emotion that was inscrutable but made her shiver that had nothing to with the cold.

She took his hand, told him not to ask questions and dragged him beyond the Heart Tree and into the Godswood.

“I’m starting to think your plan was to kidnap me all along.” He grinned at her laugh and let himself be tugged along.

She drew him along to the place that would have been the hot springs in the above land, and stepped through the glamour she made, pulling her with him.

He became very still at she looked at the meadow she had recreated.

Sansa had toyed with the ideas of making the flowers dark like the castle, like his hair with dark purple tulips, and almost black roses, but every flower was bright. Lavender, pink and baby blue and other surrounded them. She pulled him further into the meadow, and pushed him down to the ground, and sat gracefully next to his surprised sprawled form.

“What do you think?” She grins at him, and plays with a lock of her hair as she speaks, her words light and playful.

His eyes moved from the scenery around them to her finger in her hair, and he almost looked entranced with the movement.

“I think it’s amazing. You’re amazing.” His words are gruff, but his eyes are warm and she feels as beautiful as every star in the sky.

“I made it for you. To remind you that not everything you touch is dead, and that you don’t destroy anything.” She once again speaks lightly because she doesn’t want to break the moment, but she also wants him to _know_.

He touched the petal softly, and stroked it as if in a daze, then he looked up to her and still dazed, places his hand on her cheek. She covers his hand with her own, hearing his soft sigh and smiling at him. He moves his other hand slowly to trace her face, and then capturing her hair in his hands.

“Sansa,” he began, and god the way his voice sounded when he spoke her name, “ _Sansa_ , I love you.”

She grinned at him, knowing that he loved her already, in all the little actions he did, and basically letting her run his kingdom with him.

“I love you as well.” Jon closed his eyes at his words before moving his head closer,

“May I kiss you?” The words where a whisper upon her lips, her eyes were already half closed and every second since the creation could not compare to this single heartbeat of a moment.

“Yes, please-”

Jon cuts her words off but pressing his lips against hers. The kiss is fire and ice all at once, Sansa feels every moment of joy in her lifetime in that instance, she feels every journey undertaken was less important than this kiss.

His lips are soft, and urgent, he moves one hand down to rest on her neck, and her body is cold where he left it, but every where his hands are _fire, fire burning_.

The kiss grows more urgent, she lays down and he follows her all the way down, his mouth heavy on hers, his hips bracketing hers, her hands in his hair and on his back.

He moves his kisses down to her neck, and she gasps at the pleasure of it. They catch each other’s eyes and begin to laugh. He bumps his nose against hers, then kisses her nose and she laughs a bit harder.

He buries his bed into her neck, his hands wrapped around her torso and waist and she lazily drew one hand up and down his back, and the other pulled out his hair tie so she could play with his hair. He hummed when she began to play with his hair, so she assumes that means he likes it.

Eventually he sits up, and Sansa sits up as well. He pulls Sansa to him to sit across his lap, and places one hand on her cheek.

“Marry me. Become the Queen of the Underworld.”

“Yes.”

They marry in front of the Godswood, giggling and kissing throughout the ceremony, drunk on the knowledge that they belong together.

He watches her the next morning brushing her hair, before he comes to stand next to her, and kisses her shoulder.

“I would have given up all my powers just to touch your hair.” He takes the brush out of her hand, and runs his fingers through her hair. She doesn’t say anything, just closes her eyes at the feeling.

“I think you’re going to be the most incredible queen. You’re the best that anyone can ask for.”

He kisses her forehead, before throwing her over his shoulder and back to bed.

“Jon, the place has certainly got more… flowery since the last time I visited.” Aegon is an intimidating God, but Jon just looks irritated when Aegon interrupts the council meeting.

Jon dismisses everyone but Sansa, and Aegon’s eyes flit towards Sansa briefly before saying, “I thought you disapproved of kidnapping maidens?”

Jon gritted his teeth, and Sansa flushed.

“I came willingly,” she held her chin high and remembered they were on a level playing field, “I voluntarily came to the Underworld.”

Aegon arched a brow to his brother before sitting down in the seat opposite Jon.

“It doesn’t matter what you did, I’m sure your silly, romantical nonsense seemed reasonable at the time but promised your mother I would bring you home.”

“Do not talk to my wife in that manner.”

Aegon’s golden glow made him almost hard to look at, whereas the dark glow that was always around Jon gave her eyes a relief.

“Wife? Still, she is going home.” He placed both feet on the table in front of him, the picture of nonchalance

“I cannot go back above. I’ve eaten the seeds of the Underworld.” Sansa put her hand over Jon’s which had balled into fists. He relaxed that hand and turned it around so they could lock fingers together.

Aegon’s feet had fallen to the floor with a dull _thud_ , and had slammed his hands on the table as he stood up.

“And how many of those forsaken seeds did you eat?”

Jon jumped up when Aegon had stood up, and pushed Sansa’s chair behind him. His shoulder were tight from her viewpoint. She did not want to answer, but the answer had come up nonetheless.

“Six.” The word was ripped from her mouth like a gasp.

Aegon looked at her and then at Jon before declaring, “For six months, she will live here, and the other six months, she will live above.”

Ageon swept out of the hall before they could argue.

The six months without Jon were painful. She missed him holding her when they fell asleep, his smile, his humour, and just everything else.

She also missed being useful. In the Underworld, she was a Queen, she had powers now that she hadn’t possessed before, but up above, and she was just Sansa again. Sansa, daughter of Ned and Catelyn.

Her mother had wept upon seeing Sansa, and would not let her out of her sight. Sansa used a seeing mirror to try and talk to Jon, but Catelyn often interrupted.

She loved her mother, her mother was stronger than most of the gods combined, but she missed Jon more.

On the last moment of the last day of the six months, she said goodbye to her family and she stepped into the shadows, and came out by the ferry dock. Tormund grinned at her, and gave her a large hug that swept her off her feet.

“Oh thank the gods, someone can finally stop his brooding.”

Sansa smiled at him, and they swept away, and she got his promise that he wouldn’t tell Jon that she was here.

Sansa paused in front of the castle just to take in the view of her home before the overwhelming need to find Jon became too intense for her and she began her looking. She found him in the Godswood, looking tired and overworked, much like the first time she saw him except with his hair loose and in all black.

“Hello, love,” he shot up at her words, and spun around to view her. He drank in the sight of her like a dying man in the desert seeing water.

“I’m home.” They moved at once, she was finally in his arms, she nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck, he held her tightly.

They held each other, and they kissed, and they kissed, and they loved. She was finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is confused:  
> -Jon: Hades (Lord of the Underworld)  
> -Sansa: Persephone (Goddess of Spring, and Justice)  
> -Arya: Goddess of Wolves and the Hunt (Artemis)  
> -Bran: God of Dreams and Foresight  
> -Catelyn: Goddess of Rivers and Streams  
> -Robb: God of Heroes and Battle Strategy  
> -Rickon: God of Unknown  
> -Ned: God of Ice and Wind  
> -Aegon: King of the Gods  
> -Tormund: Charon (Guide Into the Underworld 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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